"Go Fish."

"Shawn, we're playing Gin Rummy."

"Oh, right. Then…. Uno?"

"You don't know how to play this game do you."

"No. And I admit that with great pride. Jules, are you sure you don't want to play poker?"

"You asked me if I wanted to play strip poker, and the answer is still no."

Shawn flopped backward on his bed with an exaggerated huff, playing cards sliding out of his fingers. Juliet leaned forward over her crossed legs, examined the spill, and smiled widely. "I win!"

Still in his prone position, Shawn smiled. "Excellent… Now can we play poker?"

It had been a week since the woman officially known as Erin Garrett had been arraigned. Yesterday, after declining a juried trial, she had been found guilty, on all counts. Today, Shawn had finally been found fit enough to return home. That didn't mean he hadn't tried, repeatedly, to get out AMA. It took the combined effort of Henry, Gus, and a few select members of the SBPD to keep him confined to the hospital. By this point, even his nurse, who'd shown to be a master of the double entendre, wasn't enough to keep him from completely losing his mind with boredom.

On his last day as an inmate, Juliet had stopped by, and kindly agreed to hang out with him while his dad took care of the paperwork for his release. Even with her very welcome company, though, he had to restrain the impulse to run… er… hobble to freedom by himself.

"Shawn?"

He rolled his head to the side, his smile sliding away at the serious tone in her voice. Her eyes were downcast as she collected the scattered cards. Finally she looked up, worrying her bottom lip in a way that… well, in a way that if he kept thinking the way he was thinking…

Her eyes rose to meet his, and her tongue darted out nervously to lick her lips.

"Shawn… I…"

"You ready to go?" Boomed a voice from the door.

Both people on the bed jumped as Henry entered the room. Juliet slid from the bed, her face slightly flushed. "I'll, uh, see you later… take care Shawn." She waved, smiling as she left the room.

"Daaaaaaaaad….."

His father looked back at him, spreading his hands.

"What?"

0o0o0o0

He didn't think he'd ever be so grateful to enter his own apartment. It had taken some serious finagling to get his dad to take him here. The old man had been determined to bring Shawn to his house… But regardless of whatever current male bonding they had between them, the thought of spending night and day with his father was unbearable.

Though he had to admit- the thought of not having to prepare his own meals had definite merit…

Tossing his few belongings on his counter, he gingerly lowered himself to his couch… and then wrinkled his nose. Okay, what smelled like rotting garbage… oh right.

Tilting his head back for just a second, Shawn pulled himself upright again and dragged his body to the kitchen. He remembered, very clearly, throwing out the remains of a failed egg salad concoction. Add to that several days worth of used coffee filters and a half empty carton of sour milk… He wrestled for dominance with his protesting nasal passages as he tied off the bag of refuse and hauled it from the can. Though not heavy, his midsection burned in aggrieved outrage at the activity. Pushing his discomfort into the same part of his brain that housed all the advice his dad had given him about fishing, Shawn carried the bag out the door. His landlady, very kindly, had offered to deal with his trash if he wanted to just set it outside his apartment. However, the thought of her arthritic fingers hauling down his garbage was unacceptable. Besides, Gus had told him no.

Depositing his refuse, he wearily returned to his apartment, already contemplating what he'd scrounge for lunch.

He needn't have worried.

The delicious aroma of Schezwan chicken met his nose halfway down the hall. His badly abused taste buds perked up at the tell-tale scent, and immediately took over his mental abilities. He hardly acknowledged the presence of his best friend as he made a lopsided beeline for the brown paper bag of the gods sitting next to his toaster oven. Only after three steaming mouthfuls did he manage a hello. Gus, true to form, merely snagged an egg roll and plopped down on his couch.

Twenty minutes later, no longer famished, Shawn rested against the cushions of his sofa. Gus was flipping channels on his set, neither of them feeling the need to converse. He was really feeling relaxed. Really, really, really…

…

Dammit!

He knew he should have been more suspicious when Gus offered to fix him up with another plate of fried rice!

He turned his head to glare at the other man, only to see Gus looking back, brows raised above sneaky eyes. Oh, there'd be retribution for this later… heavy retribution, possibly involving yogurt filled balloons. But not until after a nap. Maybe after a couple of naps…

His eyes closed, despite his need to continue glaring.

Somehow, he was certain, his father had something to do with this.

The old man was going down.

0o0o0o0

The sun was gone when he opened his eyes again. His SpongeBob blanket had been draped over his body, and all the dinner remains had been put away. On the other end of the couch, highlighted by the soft glow from his kitchen window, Gus was sleeping heavily; the remote still clutched in his hands. Though not in complete darkness, he wished Gus had thought to flip on a light before crashing. Oh well, it wasn't like he didn't know his way around his own apartment.

Standing slowly, Shawn was rudely reminded of why sleeping through the day was such a pain as his bladder joined other body parts in the vendetta to make him suffer. Working his way around the back of the couch, he swore sharply as he stubbed his toe on one of the short legs beneath it. Okay, now his toe hated him too. Moving carefully, he worked his way to the bathroom. Not even bothering with a light, he took care of business with half-shut eyes. Splashing his hands under the faucet, he yawned hugely. Those must've been some good meds hidden in his food. Regardless of the hours he'd dozed away, nothing seemed more inviting to him now than returning to the soft cushions in the living room. Wiping off his hands, he shuffled his way back towards the couch.

He was halfway there when his brain caught up with him.

Gus had fallen asleep holding the remote.

The TV was turned off.

And so was the light from his digital clock.

"Oh shit…"

0o0o0o0

Lassiter leaned heavily on his desk, typing the latest report into his laptop. Across from him, O'Hara was blinking slowly, her arm propped on the edge of the desk with her head on her palm. She seemed to have forgotten what she'd been doing last.

He couldn't blame her for her lack of energy. This thing with Spencer had been a drain for them all. But O'Hara had reacted to it worse than the rest of them. Knowing her odd affinity… okay, attraction, to the self-proclaimed psychic, Carlton wasn't surprised when she'd put in extra shifts to hang out at the hospital. Actually, so had Lassiter. But if anyone were to ask, he'd deny it on pain of death.

O'Hara's elbow slipped a little, and she jerked her head up fast. Shifting her shoulders slightly, she bent back over the file she'd been proof-reading.

"Why not head home, you can finish that tomorrow."

Her head shot up guiltily at the suggestion from her senior partner.

Carlton almost smiled at the look, but managed to fight it off at the last second.

"Go on. I'm sure the Chief won't mind if she doesn't get it until morning."

O'Hara's eyes narrowed suspiciously, but before she could answer, the phone on Carlton's desk rang. He grabbed it up distractedly, typing another line with one hand.

"Lassiter."

He listened for several seconds, his brows lowering in response.

"Well what about Peters… he should have been just a few blocks away…"

O'Hara looked up with concerned curiosity as he spoke. Ignoring the question in her eyes, Carlton suppressed a growl. "Okay, okay… no, no I understand… No, I'll take care of it."

O'Hara stood and moved to the side of his desk as Lassiter hung up. Pushing back his chair, he stood as well, grabbing his jacket off the coat hook, he strode for the exit, O'Hara on his heels. "What's going on?" Pushing through the double doors, he jogged to his car. "That was Fulmer. There was a fire on Washington and third. Apparently some idiot jumped the curb and plowed into the gas station on the corner. Took out one of the pumps and sent the whole thing up in flames. All units in the area were asked to respond."

As the two got into his car, Juliet's face showed sudden comprehension.

"It was their night to patrol…"

Lassiter nodded, starting his car. Preparing to back out, he caught the strain in her eyes. "Look, it's fine. We'll drive down there, maybe stop in for a cup of coffee…"

She snapped on her seatbelt. "Oh, I'm sure he'll buy that." Her words were spoken lightly, but her hands shook as she reached for her phone. "I'm going to call him and let him know we're on the way. Maybe if I tell him we've got ice cream he won't wonder why we're there."

Lassiter shook his head, pushing down the accelerator a bit harder than was typical.

"And you thought my suggestion sounded dumb."

0o0o0o0

"Gus…"

Shawn poked at his shoulder, drawing a mumbled complaint.

"Gus…" He tried again, whispering louder as he shook the arm holding the remote. Gus jumped as he woke suddenly, sending the remote flying across the room. Shawn heard it clatter to ground somewhere in the vicinity of his CD collection. In the dim light, Gus's eyes looked huge as he stared around himself.

"Wha… damn Shawn, why'd you turn off all the lights?"

Gus's voice was also hushed, probably in response to Shawn's. Shawn was just starting to answer when a tiny sound stopped him. He held up his hand. Gus obviously misinterpreted the sign.

"Shawn what…"

"Shhh!"

This time he held up both hands. He listened intently, but even though he strained his ears, the sound didn't repeat itself. Looking back at what he could see of Gus in the muted light, he gestured with his arm. "Dude, standard signal! Hand up with index finger extended means hushies!"

Gus glared back. At least… he thought it was a glare. "I'll remember that next time we have a blackout!" He whispered back fiercely.

Though he was still agitated… well… freaked out… Shawn paused to give Gus's words their due. He hadn't even considered that it might actually be just that; a simple blackout.

Still…

Fumbling around on his coffee table, he finally managed to find his cell. Flipping it open, he saw the low battery symbol blinking. Of course. Still, there might be enough power left to… he managed two numbers before the tiny screen went black.

Damn.

"Gus, where's your cell?"

Gus leaned back on the couch. "On the coffee table- you should be right next to it." Shawn could have smacked his forehead. Of course, he and Gus had the same Razor design. So the question was… where was his cell?

And then he remembered. He'd had it with him that night. And somewhere between the parking garage and the ocean, it had vanished.

He dropped Gus's cell back to the table. Pushing himself to his feet, he took two steps towards the kitchen, and froze at the sound of something solid striking flesh.

He started to spin around… "Gus…!" And felt his body slammed into the wall.

Solid muscle pressed into his back, and he bit his lip as his ribs flared hotly. Thick fingers squeezed around his throat, and the muzzle of a small gun pressed against his temple.

He flinched as rough lips brushed against his ear. The hand around his throat tightened slightly, the thumb moving in lazy circles as Andrew breathed out heavily, and whispered the first words Shawn had ever heard him say.

"I've been thinking about you."